Tuesday, March 11, 2014

creepy hobo

I dreamed about railroad tracks last night. It’s the only thing I remember about the
whole dream – just the tracks -silver rails glinting in the sun and stretching
as far as my eyes could see, black sticky railroad ties lined up in perfect
symmetry, and glittery limestone.

When I was a young girl spending summers on my great
grandparents’ farm in St Paul, Kentucky, I spent lots of time fantasizing about
escape. Escape to where? Nowhere in particular, I just wanted to be
anywhere that wasn’t there where I was.
I imagined following the railroad tracks all the way to the ocean, even
though I had no idea if those tracks near the house ran east-west or
north-south. The ocean was a very long way off, regardless
of the direction I might have taken. It
makes sense that a person could never be lost if she had no particular destination
in mind to begin with, and how could a person get lost with such a distinct
path to follow?

My brothers and I were forbidden to play on or near the
railroad tracks. Of course, we did
anyway. We walked the rails to see who
could go the farthest without losing balance.
We’d see who could walk the farthest with his/her eyes blindfolded. We put pennies on the tracks so trains would
flatten them. We’d throw rocks at
boxcars when trains went by. We’d lay on
the tracks and pretend we were playing chicken, but as soon as we heard a train
coming, we moved off. There were plenty
of ways to kill time on the train tracks.

In that area of Kentucky, tall daylilies grew all along
the tracks. They
wilt quickly when picked in the heat, but I made gigantic bouquets of them and put them on
graves at the cemetery down the road from the farm. It felt like doing a public service –
decorating graves of strangers. Some of
those people really were family, but they were dead long before I came
along.

Railroad tracks are a very hot place to be in the summer
sun. The white limestone, even when it’s
dirty, reflects the sun. The steel rails
get super hot. Even so, from time to
time, we saw a man or a few men together walking the tracks. The heat didn’t keep people away. That’s another reason my grandmother didn’t
want us around the tracks – she called them hobos.

Hobos were usually dirty and sometimes they smelled
bad. I remember one nasty, creepy guy with
bad teeth. He was drunk. Very near the tracks, my brothers and I had
dug small tunnels in the hillside. On
that particular afternoon, we were catching toads and grasshoppers and putting
them in the tunnels…I’m not sure why….it was something to do. The hobo staggered down off the tracks and
walked over to see what we were up to.
He asked if we had any money or anything to eat. We were not friendly to him but he
lingered. He bent down and put his face
near mine and said, “You must be someone’s purty little girl.” He smiled at me with those terrifying teeth. I scrambled back from him, stood up, and said
“I’m not little.” My older brother
stepped between us and barked “She’s not pretty either.”

It makes me smile to think about that now. He was just trying to be protective of me. The hobo got all defensive and stepped back. He smirked at us, pulled a pint bottle out of
his filthy baggy denim overalls, and chugged whisky. He smiled at us and held it out as if to
offer us a drink. We said nothing. I gave him my meanest look. He winked at me, licked his lips, turned and
climbed back up to the tracks to leave. We
watched to be sure he really went on his way.
My little brother suggested we should throw rocks at him, but we
didn’t. We weren't mean like that and besides, we had toads to play with.

I love this story too. When I was little I would read kids books that were American and they would mention hobos and your description is exactly as I used to picture them even though in the stories there was never a specific description.

It's good to write down memories as the pop up. Record the days as they pass. Time just passes and the memories fade.

About Me

What kind of crackhead writes the sort of rubbish that appears in this blog? Read on to find out. I am a lady who is happy to be living in the great state of Kentucky. I consider myself to be middle-aged, but age is relative (and perhaps there's some denial on my part). I’m married to Someone (he who shall not be named). I have three lovely daughters (Sarah, Erin, and Emily), and a lovely step-daughter, Katie. Erin and Emily are twins, and my youngest. We have a dog (Gracie) and two cats –Jack and Molly. I’ve been a computer professional for 34 years and it’s time for a change!! It's in the works.